2. Chapter 1 Rhianelle
Chapter 1 Rhianelle
“ B reathe, Rhianelle.”
A voice calls for me.
It’s dark and heady, just like the pair of eyes that are staring straight at me. I bury my face in my hands momentarily, trying to collect myself.
I had a nightmare about Blaire.
That’s right… it’s just a dream. My pounding heart almost settles down until I see the man standing across the room from me.
The vampire I married.
Clad in only his leather breeches, every inch of him is built like a warrior. His coal black hair sheared short at the sides paired with his carved jawline make him look downright godly.
He is tall, even among elves.
His handsome eyebrows furrow together, as if he’s displeased with me already.
It’s only morning…
Svenn stands against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “You were screaming in your sleep.”
His controlled voice sends chills down my spine and other places.
“I was?”
He moves across the room with a smooth stride, the kind that only an immortal could achieve.
In an instant, he is right beside me, perched on the edge of the bed. He brushes a wayward strand and tucks it behind my ear. His fingers dance across my skin with a gentleness that leaves me breathless. Part of my heart melts at the gesture—the idiot part.
I haven’t been this close to him in days. The last time was back when he was grinding on me on our first night here because of our stupid bond.
I take the opportunity to study his peculiar eyes. They’re ancient and unyielding. In the sunlight, his irises glow into a strange ochre color. Sometimes I catch some flecks of gold in the sea of red. I quickly look away before I am caught staring.
Svenn is dangerous. And like all lethal beings, he’s beautiful. The wise thing to do is to stay away. He’s a savage and merciless monster.
It’s fine.
I have lived with monsters before. Survived them back in Astefar. I may not have claws and talons for attacking like other beasts in the forest, but I’m good at defending myself. I’ll protect my heart and he won’t be able to break me ever again.
Rainer once told me the story of three little pigs who built their houses to protect themselves from the wolf. Before, I was the first pig in the story, the foolish one who built my walls out of straw and hay.
I’m smarter now.
The walls around my heart are built with hardened bricks, enforced with solid dwarven steel now. I douse any embers of attraction between us before they can spread into flame.
“How’s your head?” His voice is almost gentle when he asks that. For a moment it doesn’t seem like he hates me so much.
“It’s better,” I say, trying to sound as casual as I can even though my heart is hammering like a drum. “Was I really screaming?”
“It’s hard to miss it. You were loud.”
Just like that, Jerk Svenn makes his comeback.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” I mutter.
He stares down at me and I see a hint of concern in his beautiful russet eyes. Maybe I’m just imagining it.
I hate it when he looks at me like that. Like he didn’t just hurt me when he pushed me away. Like he didn’t just stomp on my hopes and dreams. Like he hadn’t confessed that he tried to kill me. Twice.
I’m still mending my battered heart.
“I don’t want this. I don’t want you.” I can’t forget the mocking cruelty in the things he said.
My brain has decided to forget any feelings I hold for Svenn, but my heart hasn’t quite caught up to the idea yet.
His gaze sweeps over me, from my throat down to my breast. My pulse pounds in my ears until it’s all I can hear. I feel like I’ve accidentally stumbled upon the wolf’s lair and he’s all too happy to devour his prey.
Stupid little pig.
It’s not real. This is the strange bond effect.
I notice the barely perceptible flinch in Svenn’s face when he glimpses the raven’s wing marking over my belly. No one else can see the curse engraved on my skin but the two of us. The worst curse from the vilest dark magic. I quickly cover my exposed skin with the blanket to hide the Rhunhraefn.
“You don’t have to be afraid. I won’t hurt you.” He pauses and stares down at me. His eyes give nothing away. “I will never touch you like that again.”
I beg my face not to react to that. “That’s good to know.”
“I’m in better control of… whatever the fuck it is that we have. It doesn’t bother me as much.”
“Yeah, me too,” I say smoothly.
That is a complete lie.
The bond has been whispering the most wicked of things. I want to kiss his lips. I want to lick his throat. I want to bite his chest. There is something definitely wrong with me. And it gets worse with each passing day.
“A friend is bringing me a book from the Arawynn temple in the capital. We’ll know more about this bond soon,” I say, keeping my tone even. “I want to be rid of it as soon as possible.”
An even bigger lie.
I wish with all my being that I could say that the bond between us is unpleasant. But the truth is, I love the warm and cosy feeling it has given me. It feels like it has always been a part of me.
“I should get up now,” I say, clearing my throat. I slide from the bed and head straight to the bath chamber. Svenn knows about my deformed bone, so I don’t bother with a pretentious gait around him.
I’m glad the meetings with the emissaries in Windhaven are not as formal as the ones in the capital. One can even go in armor and hunting leathers. This means I won’t have to endanger Tallula and Lenna’s lives by bringing them here to dress me.
I pick a simple light cerise dress and pair it with a practical black pants. If I’m lucky Aelfric might train with me today. But if he’s busy, I’ll manage just fine by myself. I saw the perfect spot behind the keep yesterday.
By the time I’ve finished dressing, the Strigon lingers in the room as if he is waiting for me.
“You’re still going to your council meeting?” he asks in that deep voice again.
“Yes.”
He follows my every movement with his dark gaze. “You can’t even stand straight.”
Yes, but I need to do this.
“I’ll crawl if I have to,” I say with a small sigh.
I walk to the dresser to put on the earrings and jewelry. For a moment, I catch him marveling at my body through the mirror. That’s impossible. The man has just made it clear that he wants nothing to do with me.
Walls of bricks, not of straw.
I force my eyes to look elsewhere. They fall on the map of our realm on the wall. Svenn has charted all the places he has been to in meticulous detail. He crossed the orc fish market yesterday. I’ve always wanted to see the busy harbor in Myrkheim.
I’m envious of his wings.
I’m also anxious about them.
Because whenever he leaves, I’m always scared he may never come back.
I recognize the heavy, controlled footfall. Darstan is here to retrieve me for the meeting.
I turn on my heels and head straight to the door. The stupid yearning in my chest tells me to steal one more glance at Svenn.
His dark eyes lock with mine. I feel myself almost cower beneath that stare.
“I’ll see you tonight then,” he says.
Those simple words shouldn’t raise any flutter in my heart, but they did.
And I loathe him for that.
“Siofra will be here soon with the item you requested,” Darstan whispers to me as we walk to the council chamber at the lower southeast wing of the keep.
“Thank you.” I crane my neck to look at him.
My knight’s brown hair is trimmed short, highlighting his sharp jaw and harsh features. He hardly cares for his appearance, but I think he shaved today in anticipation for his wife’s arrival.
I like this soft side of him when it comes to her.
At seven feet tall, Darstan has one or two inches on my husband. Yet, somehow Svenn’s presence is much more terrifying and intimidating.
Aelfric is waiting at the entrance to the council, standing tall and handsome in his silver armor. His short-cropped hair is the palest shade of yellow. He stares down at me for a long moment through his right eye.
“Is something wrong?” I ask the knight.
He fiddles with the black eyepatch covering his left eye, taking his time to answer me.
“The Aeonian has a new messenger, Lord Sylas Duvall,” he finally says with an intense look on his face. “Be careful.”
“I will.” I manage a smile to my knights despite the heavy feeling of doom penetrating my heavy chest.
Darstan pushed the enormous cedar door and I keep my pulse steady. I slip into my High Elf mask as soon as I enter the council chamber.
Silence accompanies my walk as I take my place at the end of the grand long table. The furniture is stretched over a quarter of the room’s length with enough space to accommodate the thirty-three delegations from each region of Aelfheim. I don’t know where they managed to find a tree large enough to make this refined piece.
My heart catches when I move past the Lords of the western frontier, seasoned warriors who fought alongside my mother in the freezing mountains of Norath. All the ambassadors at the table are hardened elves, some have been around before the Age of Conquest.
“Welcome, my queen,” Wesley, Lord of Windhaven greets me warmly. He is immaculately dressed in a black coat and vest, with his darkened auburn hair styled back. Despite his easy manners, I see the dark stubble shadowing his jaw that was not there a week ago. Another sign of strain I put on the lord by bringing Svenn here.
I look at each face on the long table that stares back at me.
Pity? Disgust? I can hardly tell. High Elves are excellent at masking their emotions. A few pious ones do offer their prayers to the gods when they see the invisible Mark of the Blessed on me.
I like that meetings in Windhaven follow less protocol than the rigid rules of the capital, but there’s one thing that bothers me.
There are no chairs at the table.
“We have received good tidings from Lady Tierra,” Lord Wesley announces in his deep, rich voice. “The Hlaryan elves at the Anastarros temple have successfully healed Commissioner Eamon. He is expected to make a full recovery.”
No one says anything.
Eamon is not very popular in public and even less so in court. His life was in peril when Svenn buried his hand in the messenger’s chest. I feel a tinge of guilt because the commissioner was just following his master’s orders. I mutter a silent prayer to the seventy-seven gods, thanking them for the good news.
The door swings open, bringing an air of chill with it. A wave of unease swells in my chest in the presence of the noble who enters the room. He is tall, lean built, with striking blonde hair. I know instantly that this handsome male has to be the Aeonian’s new messenger, Lord Sylas Duvall.
He half glances at me before taking his place on the other end of the long table, his movements are slow and unhurried. Whatever warmth that was once there in those piercing blue eyes is now replaced with something predatory.
“Shall we begin the session?” Lord Duvall asks with a smile. He looks at me like I’m a fragile glass cup he wants to shatter.
No.
The Aeonians will not break me. They will not destroy me.
The council proceeds with their endless talk of war. It feels like the air itself is choking me when the delegation from Vorathil suggests on marching to Tavan next week.
“It’s meaningless. The place was abandoned by the orcs and the fae for a reason,” Lady Eilidh rebukes the proposal, speaking on behalf of Stormhaven and her father. “The land is not fertile nor strategic. It’s just a hiding site for bandits and criminals now, just like Celestria and Ashenmoor.”
Most of the emissaries agree with her. This is good progression in the council. The Aldarelfs are all reluctant to go to war. I run a finger over the marking tattooed on my wrist.
Kill the Fae King.
The moment my uncle saw the Arawynn agreement between me and Svenn, he stops pushing for a great war with Avalon. Rainer only desired revenge for Aerin’s death. Now he simply retreats into his solitude until the time come for the vampire to fulfill his end of the bargain. It’s comforting that I don’t have to work against my uncle anymore in the council meetings, but I miss his guidance.
“The next on our agenda is the matter of the Maiden of Arawynn,” Lord Tulane of Aetherglen says, flipping the papers in his hand. “We have all heard of the ridiculous ransom.”
Two thousand chests of gold and silver.
I ignore the laughter in the room.
Breathe. One at a time.
It’s so odd… The Orc tribes of Myrkheim lead a simple life. They barter and trade with the fae and dwarves. Why do these outlaws need such a large amount of wealth? Silver and gold can only mean that the bandits need to buy something that is Elven made.
“Why was the maiden’s procession en route to Myrkheim instead of coming home straight to the capital after she visited the Demon Lord?“ Wesley asks, his brows pinching with confusion.
“Because we ask her to,” Duvall says easily. “She failed to bind the Demon Lord with the Arawynn bond. The least she can do is secure an alliance with the Orc King.”
“The King of Myrkheim, Mavren has been married and mated for years,” General Raleich muses. The warlord with salt and pepper hair is dressed in full body armor, like he is going to battle the next hour or so.
“We offered him to take the Maiden of Arawynn as his second wife or a concubine.” The Aeonians’ cruel decree filters through Duvall’s mouth. “Of course, the maiden failed that as well.”
My eyes begin to burn with the threat of tears. I meet his gaze from across the room.
Duvall surveys my reaction coldly, his eyes as sharp as knives. Rainer taught me to never show any weakness in front of the enemy. I bite my inner cheeks to keep myself from saying things I’ll regret later.
“Is the maiden even alive?” Lord Nemarion asks, another western frontier warlord in full body golden armor. His sun-kissed complexion and heavy muscles were earned from the harsh training in Kvatosh temple in Wivencrest. “We didn’t pay her ransom to the bandits.”
My heart shatters into a thousand tiny shards. V?lundr would have willingly settled that sum had the Aeonians told us what was requested.
“She’s alive.”
I look at the owner of that voice, Caladrim of Oakenveil. His face is stern, full of sharp angles and planes, as he places a box on the table. “It appears that the Fae King paid the insurgents handsomely with their precious Fae Wine.”
The council members murmur and I wait with bated breaths for him to continue.
“The fae’s bounty was generous enough that the rebel leader Akaloth decided to spare all the prisoners. He even allowed them to write a letter home,” Caladrim says, pushing the box forward. “Here are the ones from the Maiden of Arawynn and her escorts.”
My pulse thrums with anticipation as he passes around the letters. Blaire’s letter is placed at the centre of the table on display.
“This handwriting belongs to the maiden…?” General Raleich asks, arching his well-groomed dark brow.
The chamber falls silent as we all stare at Blaire’s chicken scratch scribblings.
Duvall’s laughter filters through the air. “No wonder she is rejected by the Demon Lord and the Orc King.”
“But it’s interesting that she interlaced them with proper cursive and calligraphy,” Lord Wesley says politely. “Perhaps her hand is injured.”
Emotion clogs my throat as I study the letter.
It contains mostly of directions for the next Arawynn maiden, but I read the three most important words.
I am safe.
I read the three words over and over in Blaire’s voice as they play in my head. My friend hates the pretentious, flowery writing they forced us to learn at the temples. If she’s using her original strokes, it means she meant those words.
This is a message for me to believe in her.
There are also symbols in there that only Blaire and I use as our secret code. A hidden message meant only for me.
Trust me, Rhianelle. I have a plan.
The Elders are lying.
“Enough matters of the maiden!” Lord Baldar grunts, slamming his hand on the table lightly. The temperamental lord comes from a neighboring region close to Windhaven, Mistward. “We have a bigger issue at hand. There is a killer on the loose.”
Tension wrinkles the corner of Lord Wesley’s jaw as he responds in a solemn voice, “Yes, seven more bodies were found in the alley yesterday.”
It feels like someone has filled my lungs with stones. I can’t seem to catch my breath.
Ninety-eight deaths now.
And it all started a week ago, exactly a day after we arrived at Windhaven.
“This must be a joke. Are we really searching for an unknown culprit?” Kharlis of Vorathil asks sharply. “It’s obvious that this is the work of the vampire.”
Bitterness clogs my throat at the claim.
“Before you go accusing the queen’s consort, show us your evidence first,” Lord Wesley counters.
I silently thank him in my heart.
That’s right, they have no proof that it’s Svenn.
I know it’s not him.
The vampire and I made a deal. My blood as his regular meal in exchange for his loyalty. He promised me won’t touch the innocent lives here. But it worries me that he hasn’t taken a single bite from me since we came to Windhaven…
Duvall’s lips quirks into a smile. “Ripped throats and dismembered bodies are quite consistent with a Nightwalker’s attack, I should say.”
I feel an invisible noose around my neck at that smirk.
“Nightwalker? There’s no point in calling him that. This one walks in broad daylight.” Lirian Moiree, priestess from the temple of Astraea, shakes her head, the long black curls of her hair swaying at the movement.
The ball of nerves coiling in my stomach tightens further.
Lord Wesley closes his eyes and runs a hand over his right temple in frustration. “I’ve set a curfew and doubled the watch during nighttime. We’ll catch the real killer soon.”
“If there is no further motion, then let us end the session early,” Lady Eilidh concludes, eager to return to her ailing father.
Duvall is the first to depart the chamber, glancing at me from the corners of his eyes before he goes. I inhale deeply to subdue the fear constricting my heart. The emissaries and Aldarelfs soon follow.
I catch Lord Wesley just before he leaves. “I need to speak to you about the killings.”
“You have no reason to feel unsafe, my queen. The fortress walls are guarded at all times,” the Lord says to assuage my fears.
“Please tell me if there is anything I can do to help,” I say sincerely and I mean it. I’ll do anything to help him arrest or capture the monster terrorizing his city.
I catch the flash of emotion in his copper eyes over my offer. “Leave the matter to me, my queen. It is my city, my land, my responsibility.”
I know his word is meant to ease my worry, but still guilt tugs in my chest.
Because I’m the one who brought a vampire into his home.